


right at my throat

by tosca1390



Category: Full Metal Panic
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Is my Halloween costume a threat to national security?" </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	right at my throat

*

"You can't wear that."

Kaname scoffs, threading her fingers through the lacy strings of her apron. "Oh, this is going to be rich," she mutters under her breath.

Sousuke stands in the doorway of the bathroom, face set in a sharp glower. She glances at him in the mirror as she smoothes her hair up into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her hair is thick and heavy, but it allows for the low scoop of the back of the outfit to shine. The red of the maid skirt is dark, like blood; it stands out nicely against the crisp white blouse and apron, against the shine of her hair. She knows she looks lovely; it’s just a matter of making him admit it, too.

"You cannot wear that outside."

"Is my Halloween costume a threat to national security?" she drawls. In her black patent heels, she rises up on her toes, arching her back. Her fingers touch at her mouth, the corners of her eyes, checking for smudges.

In the reflection, she can see his jaw tighten, his eye wander. "It's - well -"

"It's a costume party, Sousuke. This is my costume," she says flatly.

"It's - it's indecent," he says sharply.

There's that military tone, she thinks with a silent sigh. It's cute, when she wants it to be.

"Are you saying I'm indecent?" she asks, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He swallows. He's learning, she thinks as she watches the wheels turn in his head. Before, he would have just said something incredibly dumb and insensitive. Now, he at least thinks about it first.

"I did not mean to imply that you were indecent, Kaname," he says at last through his teeth. "I only believe the outfit in question does not leave enough to the imagination."

"It's a Halloween party. That's the point," she retorts.

He scowls. The scar at his jaw pulls. Her fingers curl instinctively at the cool smooth surface of the sink. "Then I would rather we not attend, if I may be frank."

Now, she turns to face him, hands planted on her hips. "Listen, this is one of those non-negotiable social functions we talked about," she says, voice rising. "And this one includes costumes."

"You have a white sheet. You can go as a ghost instead," he says after a moment.

She hits him on top of his head with her hairbrush. It's earned. "I made this, you idiot! I'm not trashing it for a sheet!"

His hand catches at her wrist, tugging her close. Her hips slide against his. The hairbrush falls to the tile with a clatter. "People will look at you," he says, voice low in his throat.

She tilts her head up. The flush rises on her throat. "People are always looking, Sousuke. Isn't that what you always say?" she teases.

It's still strange to her sometimes, when he leans in and kisses her. It feels like a dream, a figment – it was so long of just thinking about it, and then denying she thought about it, and then him leaving her. But he slides his mouth across hers, warm and soft and still a little awkward, and she feels something give in her stomach, a curling ache. She shuts her eyes and lets his hand slide up to rest at her throat. Her fingers twist in his shirt.

"We should just stay in," he murmurs against her mouth. His fingers slide over her jaw.

Sighing, she pushes at his chest. "Nope. I'm class rep. Public appearances like this are important," she says shortly, smoothing down her skirt. It lays lacy and flush against her thighs.

He wets his lips, gaze hard on hers. Color spots his cheeks. "Kaname -"

"We're going to be late," she says crisply, pushing past him towards the living room. “And you still need to change.”

“Change? Into what?” he calls after warily. 

*

It takes another thirty minutes of yelling and ten minutes of her mouth on his, her hands on his hips and lower, but he finally lets them leave the house, her in her maid outfit and him in his camouflage uniform. She’d found it in his closet at his apartment when he was there picking up fresh clothes (let’s be honest, he hardly ever sleeps there anymore, really), and went back for it alone. How could she pass it up?

The party is at Kyoko’s. Her parents are out of town, so there’s liquor, a little beer. By the time Kaname and Sousuke arrive, someone has already thrown up in the bushes by the front door, and Sousuke looks completely distressed. But this was part of his life now; she had a social life, and obligations to her friends, and if he wanted to be with her (as the pay cut and the near-suicidal sassing at the higher-ups in Mithril seem to indicate), this was a part of it. 

The girls ooh and ah over her maid costume; the boys stare, but don’t do much else. Sousuke is intimidating enough on his own; putting him in a military uniform is something else all together. Kaname gets distracted whenever he walks into the room, grazes his hand across her hip, her waist. She can’t help it; he cuts a striking figure, and, well, it really has always been him, hasn’t it? Not that she’ll ever tell him that though. 

Every room downstairs is packed, a press of sexy rabbits and nurses and some samurai and a few soldiers, plus bad imitations of J-pop singers and bands and a few weird American celebrities and movie characters. Kaname, a weak drink in hand, slides towards the stairs and heads up, looking for a moment. She’s lost Sousuke in the midst of Shinji and his friends; she thinks they were exchanging info on Arm Slaves and the new Soldier of Fortune, but she can’t be sure. 

She settles herself in Kyoko’s private bath, off the hallway and her bedroom. The lace is itchy on her skin, the tights riding up over her garters, and she just needs a moment. This is the most normal they’ve been in large groups _ever_ , really – it’s still totally strange, when she lets herself think about it. 

There’s a sharp rap of knuckles on the door as she stands with her heel on the toilet lid, fingers at her garter. “Hold your horses!” she shouts. 

Instead, the door opens. Sousuke slides inside, gaze dark. His eyes settle on her bent leg. 

“I lost you,” he says at last, shutting the door behind him. She can hear the lock click. 

A smile curls at the corners of her mouth. “You were busy playing soldier,” she teases, sliding her hands over her knee before she lowers her leg. 

“Is everything all right?” he asks, eyes moving to her half-full plastic cup, sitting on the edge of the sink. 

She shrugs. “Just needed a minute, I guess.”

“We can leave and return to your apartment, if you wish,” he says. 

“Stop it,” she mutters, picking up her cup and setting it on the windowsill. She lifts up on her heels and sits on the lip of the sink, her thighs falling open. “I’m fine.”

Sousuke moves to her immediately, his hands wide and warm on her knees. He plucks at the edges of her tights, the lacy trim of her garters. Color flushes at her throat, rising over her jaw. It would be enough to have him back and alive, she thinks. But this, with him sure of what he wants, of the future he wants, and how she is a part of it – this is better, she thinks. Even if he still is an idiot most of the time. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, leaning into her. 

She shrugs, raises her fingers to the scar at his jaw. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Sighing, she slips her leg over his hip, tugging him closer. His mouth knocks at her jaw, his hands shifting at her thighs. “Do you ever shut down?” she mutters, tipping her head back. 

“I can’t shut down,” he says darkly. “Constant vigilance is –“

“I know, I know,” she mumbles, sliding her arms around his neck. “Just – I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he murmurs. He sounds amused, his mouth curling against hers. His hands slide over her garters, up between her thighs. “You really aren’t okay, are you?”

“Shut up,” she says, biting at his bottom lip. “I like you in this,” she says, shifting her hands against the thick coarse camouflage. 

“I like you in this,” he says back, almost shy even as his fingers slide into the crease of her hip and thigh, catching at the lace of her panties. She can feel his cheeks flush and warm against her skin. 

She smiles then, sliding her fingers over the lapels of his military-issue jacket. “You didn’t seem very keen on it before,” she drawls. 

“I don’t want other people looking,” he says, kissing her lightly as his fingers slide over her skin and between her thighs. He is still shy sometimes, still stutters with his hands on her skin. She’s new to this too, but she likes showing him, likes arching her hips and nudging him closer. 

“Hey now. Remember that time you made me run around in the forest with just your jacket on?” she teases. 

Finally, _finally_ , his fingers slide under her panties and against her slick warm skin. “Yeah. I remembered. Almost killed Kurz, for looking at you,” he says. She can feel the reverberation of it in his chest. It sends a shiver through her.

She sighs against his mouth, tugging him closer. His fingertips slide over her clit as his mouth catches hers. The taste of flat beer lingers on his tongue, catching at her bottom lip. 

“You had a drink,” she says, almost proud. 

He grins a little, pressing in at her clit. She sighs, sighs again, her breath catching hard in her chest. A flush rises over her skin. “Half of a beer.”

“Ugh. Live a little, Sousuke,” she mutters. 

“Thought I was,” he says, all amusement. 

Then, he really kisses her, his mouth hot and wet on hers. His tongue slides along her bottom lip as he curls a finger into her and she gasps. Her eyes shut and she leans back against the bathroom mirror, letting him lead. Sometimes, with his mouth on hers and his hands on her body, it feels as if he’s channeling months of want and need into each encounter. She wants to tell him to breathe, that he’s here and she’s here and she’s not leaving and neither is he – but she likes the urgency, likes the curl of his hands on her skin and his mouth warm on hers. 

Her thigh shifts and presses along his hip, nudging him closer. He bites at her lip and follows the curve of her mouth and jaw, breathing sharp against her skin. Another finger presses in and she sighs. Her hands slide into his hair, threading into the thick dark strands. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” she breathes out as his mouth lingers near her throat. 

He laughs. It’s a rare sound; it sends a jolt of warmth right through her. “You say that every time.”

“I mean it,” she snaps back, arching her hips into his hand as his thumb circles her clit. It’s rising in her, with the feel of the lace on her skin and his mouth on her throat and his fingers inside her, shallow and wet and leaving her wanting. 

His other hand slides over her shoulder to the nape of her neck, pulling at the knot of her hair there. “I like it down,” he whispers. He sounds as if they are alone in her bed, with his chest pressed to her back and his mouth at her shoulder. 

The sink is cool under her skin. She tips her head back against the mirror as he loosens her hair. It drops down her back, a heavy weight he catches in his open hand as his fingers shift and slide in her. His teeth drag against her throat, leaving a mark. Normally she would yell at him for marking her up – but now, with the warmth unfurling in her belly and the trembling of her muscles under his touch, she doesn’t give a damn. 

“Sousuke,” she whispers softly, voice low and ragged in her throat. “ _Please_.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs against her jaw. 

She opens her eyes and keeps his gaze. Her face is flushed and warm as she breathes his name again. His eyes are too dark, too hard on hers; she arches and curls her fingers into his scalp as she comes, quiet moans lingering between them in the small white-tiled bathroom. 

He leans in as she whimpers, kissing her soft and slow. His fingers slide away, gentle on her slick skin. They are sticky against her thigh. His mouth is easy; she slips her fingers from his hair and cups his jaw, fingertips light on the scar she knows well and yet not at all. Their eyes remain open, catching to each other.

There are stories left between them, she thinks, the flush receding from her cheeks. 

“Do you want to go back to the party?” he asks once she’s slipped off the sink onto wobbly knees. He’s washing his hands, straightening the sink – the consummate organized soldier, she thinks with a small smile. 

“Well, I think I’ve made enough of an appearance,” she says with a resigned little sigh. “We can go home, I guess.”

She catches his smile in the mirror before his face schools back into its usual serious lines. His hair falls dark over his brow. “If that’s what you’d like to do,” is all he says as they exit the bathroom, leaving it just as they found it. 

On the way home, his hand rests at the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair. She tucks into his side, and smiles. 

*


End file.
